Part 18 (2/2)
”Didn't I throw straight?” she said, triumphantly. ”And they say girls can't throw.”
”But why did you throw at all?” he said, capturing her hand.
”Because I wanted to talk to you. And I was restless and couldn't sleep.
Why did you never come and talk to me this afternoon? And why”--she beat her foot angrily--”did you let me go and play billiards alone with Mr.
Cliffe?”
”Let you!” cried Ashe. ”As if anybody could have prevented you!”
”One sees, of course, that you detest Mr. Cliffe,” said the whiteness beside him.
”I didn't come here to talk about Geoffrey Cliffe. I _won't_ talk about him! Though, of course, you must know--”
”That I flirted with him abominably all the afternoon? _C'est vrai--c'est ab-sol-ument vrai!_ And I shall always want to flirt with him, wherever I am--and whatever I may be doing.”
”Do as you please,” said Ashe, dryly, ”but I think you will get tired.”
”No, no--he excites me! He is bad, false, selfish, but he excites me. He talks to very few women--one can see that. And all the women want to talk to him. He used to admire Miss Lyster, and now he dislikes her. But she doesn't dislike him. No! she would marry him to-morrow if he asked her.”
”You are very positive,” said Ashe. ”Allow me to say that I entirely disagree with you.”
”You don't know anything about her,” said the teasing voice.
”She is my cousin, mademoiselle.”
”What does that matter? I know much more than you do, though I have only seen her two days. I know that--well, I am afraid of her!”
”Afraid of her? Did you come out--may I ask--determined to talk nonsense?”
”I came out--never mind! I _am_ afraid of her. She hates me. I think”--he felt a s.h.i.+ver in the air--will do me harm if she can.”
”No one shall do you harm,” said Ashe, his tone changing, ”if you will only trust yourself--”
She laughed merrily.
”To you? Oh! you'd soon throw it up.”
”Try me!” he said, approaching her. ”Lady Kitty, I have something to say to you.”
Suddenly she shrank away from him. He could not see her face, and had nothing to guide him.
”I haven't yet known you three weeks,” he said, over-mastered by something pa.s.sionate and profound. ”I don't know what you will say--whether you can put up with me. But I know my own mind--I shall not change. I--I love you. I ask you to marry me.”
A silence. The night seemed to have grown darker. Then a small hand seized his, and two soft lips pressed themselves upon it. He tried to capture her, but she evaded him.
”You--you really and actually--want to marry me?”
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